


Archetype Glitch

by susiephalange



Category: Divergent - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crying, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Nurse!Reader, Pre-Book/Movie 1: Divergent, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 11:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: It's hard being a transfer. It's hard having grown up in Amity. It's harder, now you live a Dauntless life, beside your partner Eric, with his high profile job within the faction.





	Archetype Glitch

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from my tumblr (I can't remember if it's from @susiephalange or @phalangewrites) who wanted to read some more Eric from Divergent. I honestly agree with Anon, because Eric is my smol evil bean. Anon, if you're reading this message, hope you like it!

Even if it is the faction dedicated to courage, and bravery, strength, fearlessness - intimidation - you're not the perfect Dauntless. You're not sure anyone is, really. Except Eric. It was almost laughable that the two of you ended up together, after all that your initiation year went through, what, with the usual intimidation tricks and antics that eliminated more than its fair share of competition. While Eric had been an Erudite, you came from Amity, from a long line of red-and-yellow wearing people who had never strayed from their heavenly fields.

While he’s the leader that everyone respects, acknowledges, and works under for fear of punishment, you have kept your Amity roots, and wrapped them in Dauntless colours, and work in the infirmary. It’s not the caring that keeps you content (or perhaps it is) but the fact that you integrate your Dauntless spirit into healing the warrior faction when they’re inevitably checked into your area. You still wear black, like everyone else, and have your share of body art like the rest of them. It’s just…your strength is rooted in returning your patients’ back to them.

This wasn’t a problem until Max brought it up. It was more of a passing comment, than a cruel remark, but when at a meeting, spoke about the ‘match the two of you made’. Eric had mentioned it over dinner that, almost like an afterthought, but it stuck with you. What did Max mean, the match? Did he mean that the roots you two came from, or your occupation, disposition, level of seniority in the faction? Either way, the words were repeating over, and over, and over in your brain, keeping you awake beside Eric in the sheets.

When the glowing clock on the wall flicked to the other side of midnight, slowly, you slipped the sheets from your body, and crept into the other room. You shared an apartment in the higher levels of the faction, but the rooms were under his name, the allowance deducted from his pay. Eric had insisted on paying for it – saying that his salary was slightly larger than your own, and because of that, took charge. As always.

Your feet pad over the hardwood floors to the living area, where there is an assortment of minimalist furniture and a small bookcase. You slowly migrate to the chair that faces the other, tucking your legs under your body, and take in the room. Once again, the contents are filled with Eric’s things, remnants of his well-educated roots, bound and smelling sweet. In the moonlight that streams through the windows, you see your small collection of potted arid-climate cacti, your photograph you’d hung beside the bedroom entrance, of yourself and Eric. It had been taken the week after you’d both gotten the place, after a successful patrol.

There was a balance in the apartment. But in your mind, there was not. There was a weight in your head. Not cowardice, or fear. Just…a niggling. A thought.

You stay there, silent, counting your heartbeat as the passing minutes drift by, listening to the noises of the night that lie beyond the walls of the place you call home in Dauntless. In Amity, there was never a curfew, and affection was never frowned upon. Maybe you were upset that Eric withheld his emotions from you. Maybe you were restless with your lack of importance beside Eric. Maybe it was just simply what Max had said. Either way, you lost track of time, deliberating over these impunities in your head until Eric’s form could be seen from the entrance to the bedroom.

“What – come back to bed,” It isn’t a demand, but it isn’t a question, either. You hesitate, but heeded his words. Not too long later, you are following him into the bedroom, laying upon the mattress, fitting into his side like a missing puzzle piece. Sleep follows not too long after. Restless sleep follows as well.

* * *

 

In the morning, you wake to an empty bed, the sheets pulled tight and neat upon his side. You had picked the bedspread, a greyscale grid pattern. Eric had not protested, and it was often on the bed. Your heart falls at the lack of presence of your partner, but the heart is not where a Dauntless operates. The clock on the wall reads only a little while until you are to report to your post at the infirmary, leaving you little time to dwell in the bedsheets in your misery.

Dauntless were brave. You’d talk to Eric about it as soon as you saw him later.

Not too soon, you’re up, dressed, and down in the wing of the sickbay where there is only an initiate nursing a broken thumb and a tattooist with a strain injury. The other attendants are working on the paperwork from the days before, and you are left to be the healer on duty. Not too soon, half the day has gone by, and you have been there to take care of almost thirteen different injuries. It’s only natural for Dauntless to get hurt, and you’re only doing your job. Without people like you, there would be nobody to take care of those in your faction who were only doing as the Dauntless Manifesto directed.

_The match the two of you made._

You don’t realise how late it is until your superior officer reminds you that it’s time to clock out, and that there’s a visitor for you in the waiting area. You’re quite out of the program, and that’s before one even can account for the full day of working in the infirmary. So, it is quite honestly much to your shock that in the waiting room, standing there is Eric.

“Hey,” you hum.

He notices your sway, how your eyes seem to see the space around where he is standing, rather than where he is, regards the baggage you’re under eyes carry, the way your face appears to be tired, almost…dissatisfied. “I’ve taken the night off,” He tells you. “And given you twenty-four hours’ time off from your post.”

You frown. “Why?”

Eric, for once, has no words when they should be from his mouth. That was one thing you liked about him – that he always had a thing in his brain, ready to go. He’d been the top on the leader board for a reason, and you had been six from the equilibrium between exile and survival. While he was blessed with natural good looks that integrated into the warrior faction, you had hair that got tangled often, and the last piercing you had gotten had been infected, even after your meticulous care to the area.

“Why?” He echoes your words. Brow quizzical, he adds, “I want to make it up to you. For not supporting you when Max made that remark the other day.”

“Er –,” your brow softens, “– let’s take this somewhere private.” You insist, and begin to walk the way home. Softer, you add, “Please.”

Eric nods.

* * *

 

It’s quiet as you both enter the apartment. Even your boots, which usually squeak with a vigour are silent. It’s almost as bad as the thoughts you were left to the night previous – the quiet is frightening. Your gaze turns to Eric, waiting for him to speak, watching him through your tired haze from the work day. His hair is flatter than usual (lack of product, or emotion, you don’t know), with lines beside his eyes that suggest he has aged since the last time you’d had the time to truly take in his appearance.

You speak first. “Something about what Max said?” you put out into the air between you. “What did he mean?”

“_______, it was in a meeting.” He nods, but his eyes, those grey eyes are not on you but his hands that he wrings. “An incidental remark. We were speaking of the leaders of the other factions, how Kang, and Reyes are handling their private lives according to the news.” By the way he’s talking, you can’t help but feel that it’s going to be a long discussion. Slowly, you walk to the chairs – and listening still, you unlace your boots, tug your hair down, crack your knuckles out of stiffness. “Someone…I can’t remember who, remarked you were Amity born.”

You frowned. “Where is this going?” You put bluntly. “I’ve had a long day.”

“Sorry.” It’s unlike him to apologise – it’s probably one of the only times you’ve heard him say that word. Ever. “They assumed that because were both transfers from other factions, that the bond between us for posterity’s sake of the faction would seem…illegitimate.”

You feel your face turn red, red with fury. It was never a red you were allowed feel as a child, but damn it, you are Dauntless, and you’ve earned your place here. You know that he knows that, because every transfer earns their place after the last task. It’s set. _Illegitimate? My ass, illegitimate._ “What does that really mean?” You stand, stomping toward Eric. “That you’d rather _show off_ to your superior officers that you are a better Dauntless than I, or in a higher position, or superior – than care for your partner’s well being?” The heat passes down your neck, warming your whole face in anger.

“I want to make it up –,” He goes to speak.

You rise to your full height. Though he’s musclebound and tattooed, his menacing façade he puts up for training is gone, and there’s just the man you love before you. But at this moment, you can’t think that you love him. You’re furious.

“There was nothing wrong with us before you told me about this!” You almost roar. “The match we make? I love you. You love me. We’re both Dauntless. No more, no less than anyone else.” You state, almost shaking in the rage that’s flowing through your blood. “You don’t think that I wake every day to think that you’ll find someone better than me? That I’m just a throwaway piece of furniture you decorate your rooms with?” Your voice has dropped to a whisper.

“________-,”

You shake your head.

“I will never be the perfect Dauntless.” Your voice quivers, and the shaking of your body has turned into something different, sadder. Your breaths are catching in your throat, and coming out as sobs. “If they could make an epitome, that would be you, but me? I’m like – like an archetype glitch.” You sniff. “So please, Eric. Do what you want to me. End the relationship. Find someone more suited to your _posterity_. Whatever it is, don’t break my heart. Because I might have an Amity one still, but my fists are Dauntless.”

He says nothing, but reaches out, wrapping his arms around you. The two of you stand there, no words shared, but the sobs that rack your chest, the sound of his hot breath by your ear. The two of you stay in this position, until you move, and his grip relaxes.

“I’ll never leave you for something stupid like that,” Eric whispers. His eyes are focused on yours, unwavering. But you can’t bring yourself to gaze upward to meet them. “I’ll never leave you, period. Max was wrong for saying those things. Babe, ________, please. Look at me. I love you.”

You sniffle. “Are you sure?”

Eric nods, his hands moving to cradle your face. “Yeah. So much. I know I’ve been putting you on the backburner all this while, you’re – I wouldn’t be the leader I am without you.” He brings his head down, bowing to whisper in your ear. “And nobody’s the perfect Dauntless. Not even me.”

You gasp, but it comes out as a tearful hiccup. “I – I don’t know why, but that sounded like blasphemy.”

Eric chuckles, his thumb moving to wipe a tear from your eyes. “There’s the ______ I love.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
